


A Silent Icy River, Fools Us All

by catherineisa



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Completed 5/16/2020, Gen, Hospitals, M/M, Poisoning, Poor Aram has to watch him kill people, Sickness, Unhinged Raymond Reddington, blah blah blah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23920240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineisa/pseuds/catherineisa
Summary: “It burns.” He almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s cracked and wispy. A respirator mask is forced over his face and his eyes widen in alarm. “It burns.”“This will help. Don’t fight it. Do you know your name? Where you are?” He nods short once and shakes his head once.“You were brought in by Mr. Reddington earlier today. He called us together to help you, he called Code 77. Do you remember what happened?”
Relationships: Raymond Reddington & Donald Ressler, Raymond Reddington/Donald Ressler
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	1. Point Of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> https://open.spotify.com/user/catherineisablank/playlist/1b5i7EPXbMeeKsw9n43OWK

Ressler can’t seem to breathe. His breath hitches at the audacity of him trying to fill his lungs with air. He tries to push on his chest, as if that’ll allow him more air. He doesn’t recognize his surroundings. He tries to squint to see the tiniest bit better, but it doesn’t help. He looks to be in a gym but that doesn’t make any sense. He’s in a hospital bed in a gym.

He tries to sit up and his breathing gets worse. The machines hooked up to him started to ring out and someone’s in the room now. “Don’t move.” A hand on his chest is pushing him down, he tries to fight it but to no avail.

“It burns.” He almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s cracked and wispy. A respirator mask is forced over his face and his eyes widen in alarm. “It burns.”

“This will help. Don’t fight it. Do you know your name? Where you are?” He nods short once and shakes his head once.

“You were brought in by Mr. Reddington earlier today. He called us together to help you, he called Code 77. Do you remember what happened?”

The man is still holding the mask over him but now his lungs have seemed to clear. If even just a little bit. He still feels that odd cracking when he breathes but it’s not as severe now. The man turns a dial before removing the rubber mask from his face.

“I don’t know where here is. What do you mean I was brought in by Reddington?” He trues to sit up again, it doesn’t hurt as much now but he’s still pushed down by the doctor.

“Mr. Reddington said that you called him in a frenzy saying that you ‘didn’t feel right’ he also said that you collapsed on the phone.”

**_Why would I call Reddington? Why not 911?_ **

“He found you collapsed on your living room floor. We haven’t found the toxin that you were poisoned with, but we have an idea of what it’s doing to you. We did some tests and found fluid in your lungs, inhibiting respiration and inducing paralysis in parts of your body. There’s a good chance you only have a couple of days until the paralysis reaches your lungs or your heart. Since you have no criminal record and are a federal agent, we’re going to move you to a hospital so a case will be opened.”

He nods, less in acknowledgement and more the fact that he’s afraid to speak again, lest his voice give out on him.

* * *

_It’d been a long day, he thinks. The gaps in his memory are painful. He doesn’t like not knowing._

_He’d gotten his mail and a drink. He feels like shit. Water. From the purifier in the fridge. He didn’t want to get drunk, or even tipsy. He downs the water and refills it again. He drinks it slower this time, laying on his back on the couch. He feels worse now. It’s so sudden now, he can’t quite catch his breath anymore. He rolls off the couch, fumbling for purchase on the floor he crawls to the island his knuckles tighten on the counter. He tries to pull himself up to grab his phone but ends up falling luckily knocking it down with him. He dials a number he’s come to know too well in the last month, the new connector number. “Yes?”_

_“I need, I can’t. breathe. Please, please help me. Help.” His voice jilts after each word and he makes the demanding effort to finish the sentence before his head hits the ground._

* * *

He’s provided with a respirator for his move to the hospital, so the stress of the ride doesn’t collapse his lungs. Once they get there, he has about five doctors hovering over him, he can’t help but feel contempt for them, despite his circumstances. He’s moved to a room where he’s granted some possible semblance of privacy.

None of the hovering doctors return (he’s dubbed them bumper car doctors in his head). He’s surprised when the doctor from the make-shift hospital shows up with a chart. The doctor introduces himself as Haverkamp, he’s an older man with greyish hair. Ressler just looks out the window onto the dirty roof. The man doesn’t speak to him except what he’s going to do as far as treatment.

“For now, we’re going to put you on a mixture of Cortico-Steroids and monitor your condition. Going to keep you on the Bronco-Dilators as well.”

Ressler barely even nods, he feels helpless. He’s connected to so many monitors and the IV in his arm is heavy and he can’t move the arm.

By then Aram is there and he tries to put on a brave face. He hides the arm under the blanket and sits up as much as he can.

“I brought you an edible arrangement. I figured that it might be inappropriate to give a co-worker alcohol, I also figured you might not want a teddy bear.” He sets the floral fruit on the table and backs up slightly, tripping on one of the chairs set against the wall. He sits down on the edge of the chair and fumbles for what to say.

“You don’t have to stay Aram, I’m fine. Thank you for the fruit.” Aram frowns slightly.

He lowers his voice. “I know you can’t possibly be okay. You can stay silent about how your feeling, but don’t do me the indignity of lying to me.”

His head tilts towards the floor. “Please. Just…don’t.”

He gets up to leave, not looking Donald in the eyes.

* * *

_“I lost him, he slipped into a car halfway down the block. Missed him by a small margin.” He bites into his cheek as Elizabeth asks no one in particular how they could’ve missed the man. The meeting went well, at first. He was taking the bait, until he got a call from someone on a phone they hadn’t tapped. He’d glanced sideways at Ressler before pushing the table into him and running through the kitchen. He runs through the face and hops the fence just in time to see that the man is driving off._

_He nearly punches the brick wall next to him, stopping just short of actually doing it._

_“Who tipped him off?” Aram muses mostly to himself._

_“What if it was Reddington?” Ressler’s quick with the accusation. He doesn’t quite think about the implication of that statement before he’s interrupted. The man steps into his view and clicks his tongue._

_“I can assure you that this has almost nothing to do with me.” Ressler raises his eyebrows pointedly._

_“Almost?” Ressler wants to strangle the man._

_“The encounter in that bar was preceded by a bad deal. The arms dealer was only there to make up for some of the loss. Apparently, some kind of move is going to be made against me, or already has. They ran away like scared dogs because of the deal that you and I made several months ago in Marseille.”_

_“The deal? The land deal you said would help find Corinne Myers.”_

_“Exactly. Except Corinne is dead. She was murdered by the man you were dealing with.”_

_“Great. Now we need to start over.”_

_"Not exactly."_

_He’s burning up and for a moment the lights seem too bright. He nearly falls over, having to sit down. The odd flash passes pretty quickly. Elizabeth hasn’t noticed but Aram’s face is a synonym for concern. He recovers quickly, assuring Aram that it’s just fatigue._

_He’s just tired._

_He has a harder time convincing himself._

_“Okay then.”_

* * *

He’s alone now. After all the nurses stop fussing over his medication and condition. It’s startlingly quiet. He decides he’s going to sleep when he sees something move out of the corner of his eye. A tall figure standing just outside of the room behind the ‘privacy curtain’. He recognizes the man almost immediately and calls out to him.

“Dembe.” His voice is raspy, and he curses quietly. He barely gets the name out before coughing violently. Luckily the man has heard him. His steps are inaudible. For a man of his stature he'd have thought his steps would be louder, it surprises Donald that he never noticed.

“Yes?” The man’s accented voice is short as he sits in the chair across from Donald.

Ressler guesses that Dembe must’ve known he wouldn’t like being towered over. Dembe always seems to know things like that, Intuitive and kind. It seems that working with Reddington for so long hasn’t affected his judgement or his soul.

“Why? Are you here.” He clears his throat and it feels like it’s closing. Dembe stands up and reaches past him, grabbing an inhaler. He puts his hand lightly on the back of his head and directs him toward it before nodding for him to inhale. He sets the inhaler down on the table and sits back down.

“I am not quite sure. To be quite honest, Raymond told me to stay with you.” He feels better but knows that it’s only temporary. He doesn’t feel much better, but at least he can breathe.

“What do you mean you don’t know? He confides in you. Doesn’t he?” He doesn’t mean to sound too critical, not to Dembe at least. He’s frustrated that he’s dying and frustrated that he doesn’t know anything.

“Usually. Yes. The nature of the situation is indeterminate though.”

“Please, tell me when you know something, yeah?” The man nods shortly and leaves, a sympathetic look graces his features. He lets his head hit the pillows and closes his eyes before anything else can distract him.

* * *

He doesn’t know how long passes before he’s woken up. He’s supplied the inhaler once again and made to sit up.

He looks out the window to see that the sun is no longer up. That could mean anything though, honestly. Dembe is in the room as soon as soon as the nurse is out.

“I have news. Raymond thinks that you were poisoned as a way of getting to him.”

Ressler raises his eyebrow and pushes of the bed slightly.

“Fucking why? Nobody knows about the taskforce.” He moves too quickly and his vision tinges red and white. He sees flashes of light in the corners of his eyes. His periphery is exploding, but he needs to know why he’s even there.

“It’s not about the taskforce. It is about _Diego Ellis and Raymond Reddington_.”

He can’t hold on to consciousness much longer and he falls back. He can’t stop shaking, his hands are trembling uncontrollably. Alarms blare around him and the lights get brighter before cutting out completely.

* * *

_It was undercover work. They were traipsing around an auction in suits that were too lavish for Donald’s taste. There’s nothing in the room that suits his taste, to be quite honest. The suit is too tight, possibly on purpose and multiple times he has to stop himself from pulling at the hem of the jacket._

_“Look sharp Donald. He’s a shark. Nasty piece of work.” Donald doesn’t quite know who “he” is. Reddington hadn’t told him before he’d dragged him into an unofficial op with no information. Per usual._

_He was an attractive mid-forties Asian man. As soon as he sees Reddington he extends his hand, but as soon as the criminal grasps it he’s pulled into a very tight hug._

_“Oh Raymond, It’s been too long.” Reddington’s face gives nothing away but Donald can sense his contempt for the man._

_“Not long enough.” He laughs loudly but it’s not his usual hearty laugh, it’s cold. The sound sends goosebumps down his arms; It reminds him that he’s not in the presence of friends._

_There’s something harsh about Reddington’s demeanor and the man must sense it. He makes the point of getting away._

_Reddington downs the rest of his drink. “I hate drug dealers. Disgusting swine.” He clicks his tongue in the back of his mouth and rolls it around his mouth. His tone is gravelly. “Especially one’s that sell to kids.”_

_Ressler’s eyes widen and he reassesses the man. The as yet unnamed man is looking in their direction, warily. He doesn’t bother masking his contempt, just as Raymond hadn’t. He glares at him and he visibly gulps._

_He doesn’t dwell on the man for long. He lowers his voice over Reddington’s shoulder. “He’s on the Blacklist, right?”_

_Reddington laughs haughtily, real amusement this time. “Oh of course. You know what? I think it’s time for Karma to go to work.”_

_He reaches into Donald’s breast pocket for his phone, sliding it out like it’s nothing. He dials a number Donald can’t quite see and holds it up to his ear with a look of passive amusement. “Hello Lizzie. I’m going to give you another name on the Blacklist early. A present of sorts. A shit-eating charade with the moral compass of a monster.”_

_A pause._

_Oh, Lizzie calling me a monster is useless when you know I’m not. Not quite.” Ressler can’t help but agree. “A drug dealer that sells to children. I have names and addresses and I’m going to text them to you.” Reddington takes a couple minutes to type them in. It’s well worth it though, when he gets his phone back, he gets the satisfaction that the monster will get his due._

_Reddington rolls his eyes. “She can be so childish sometimes. It’s infuriating.”_

_“If she infuriates you, why stick around?” Reddington’s eyes fog up for a moment. Only a moment. There's a look of defeat, resignation_

_“Sometimes Donald. I have obligations to Elizabeth. I protect her, or I try to. I need to protect my daughter. I failed once before and I won’t again.” He grabs another drink and downs it quickly. The topic is dropped soon after that._

_The auction seems to go quickly after that. The awkwardness is forgotten, mostly. He can’t help but try to gauge the man’s mood from the corner of his eye. To all of the people they meet after Donald is introduced as a flame. It makes his cheeks flame and he’s grateful when the auction is over._

_Several women tell him to “hang on” to a man like Reddington._

_Ressler just baulks._

* * *

They stabilize him after nearly half an hour of pushing drugs into his IV bag. “Shouldn’t you guys know what’s wrong with me at this point?”

The doctor gives him a helpless look and one of the nurses visibly fights the urge to glare at him. He coughs violently and blood spatters on the white sheets that are covering him. He tries to force himself to stop coughing but that only proves to make it worse. It’s uncontrollable and vicious and he vows to never take anything for granted if he lives.

He knows that the situation is bleak when the grumpy nurse starts fluffing his pillows. He’s seen it plenty of times in hospitals while questioning victims.

_They think he’s going to die._

It’s funny, he thinks, that it’s the little things that nearly tear him apart every time. He’s almost died before, but nothing feels so real as right now when the nurse takes the straw and sheds its plastic, sticking it into the little wax paper cup. When the night shift nurse comes by in the morning to put fresh flowers in a vase near the window because it “brightens up the room, don’t you think?”

The little things people do when they want you not to be uncomfortable, in turn making themselves feel better.


	2. Unfortunate Circumstances

_There’s about two hours after the auction of dead air and Ressler can’t help but drift around and take it all in. He tries to find Reddington in the crowd, but he can’t seem to find the man. It’s doesn’t bother him much and he continues to take in the scenery of the mansion, inside and out. The shrubbery looks to be very carefully cut and winds into a garden maze. There are pink and purple flowers woven in from the ground up._

_Ressler walks into the maze, casually smelling the flowers as he walks by, lightly running his fingers across the interlocking plants. He thinks about all of the time that he’s been dragged on ops just like this one. He can’t recall ever feeling this calm on an op, let alone an unsanctioned one. All his recent operations seem to be unsanctioned these days. Half of the perps he catches end up dead or escaping. As he walks along the inside of the maze, he finds himself not caring so much anymore. He will later, but for now, he’s calm._

_He thinks briefly about asking the gardener what kind of flowers they are. He’s not a man with a green thumb, but maybe he can learn. Ressler notices that the flowers aren’t wound in from the ground. The flowers roots are housed in a garden box in between the two bushes that make up the front and back of the maze._

_He walks further into the maze not minding if he gets lost. After several minutes of walking he finds himself in a clearing that seems to be circular. There are two stone benches sitting about a foot apart from each other, with tall spiral shrubs. There’s a man sitting on one of the benches, partly obscured by one of the shrubs. The man is older with near black hair, clean shaven; He’s crying nearly inaudibly, red faced and sniffling. He looks up and nearly falls over when he comes face to face with Ressler. He’s quick to wipe his face and turn away, he sniffles loudly and wipes his nose on his collar._

_Ressler doesn’t make eye contact as he sits on the other bench. He knows that if it was him he wouldn’t want someone staring at him._

_“You okay?” He makes a couple of incomprehensible noises before just simply saying “No.”_

_The mans voice wanes and he sniffles again._

_“What’s wrong?” He regrets asking as soon as the question is out. The man wipes hiss face again and clears his throat._

_“My wife was murdered. Shot.”_

_Ressler winces, the amount of people he’d interviewed with dead spouses always weighed on his soul but he’d never found a way to comfort them._

_“Do you want to talk about it?”_

_He knows he shouldn’t ask. He probably shouldn’t have asked or even sat down._

_“She was so beautiful. I loved her more than anything. I just. Son of a bitch sold her the gun the man killed her with, he's dead, she's dead. It's just...”_

_He starts sobbing into his sleeve and Ressler pats his shoulder. Promptly apologizing for it._

_“She was amazing. God, I wish I could kill the son of a bitch that sold her the gun. At least hurt him like he hurt me.” His anger is drowned out by more tears and the man gets up wipes his face and walks in another direction of the maze._

_~~\-------------------------------------------------------------------~~ _

The hospital lights seem too bright and the nurse resigns to flipping them all off.

It’s been less than a day and already Ressler has already given up hope of survival.

About 15 hours after his collapse he starts vomiting blood and he must be hauled off the floor. He’s lying in his own blood and he’s two dazed to pull his gown down before the machine starts blaring. He’s humiliated but he really has no choice as he vomits on himself again as a male nurse wrenches him up off the floor.

They give him Meclizine tablets and a pudding cup paired with some Pepto Bismol to coat his stomach. He’s in immense pain and it takes all he has not to curl into a ball and scream.

It takes an hour, but the nurse finally comes around to give him pain medication. He can’t open his eyes anymore and he feels like he’s constantly on the verge of passing out. There are black spots in his vision and there’s no light to cause them.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, but he can’t move and he just groans.

“Donald.” He recognizes the voice and tries to push off the bed. He nearly blacks out and feels Reddington’s hand push down on his shoulder. “Don’t.”

“I’m looking for the person that did this to you.” He might be hazy but Reddington’s voice seems deeper, dejected.

Ressler can’t bring himself to speak. Reddington sets something down next to him on the bed. A pen and notepad.

He can barely get his energy up to write the words and he can’t think of anything else to write. He wonders why Red’s even there.

**Please close the window. Too bright**

He doesn’t see Reddington close the blinds but suddenly the light leaves in the room. There’s a stripe of light leaking on the floor from under the bed onto the floor on the other side. Soon it’s fixed though, and he feels one of the blankets around his feet being taken away. The light is blocked, and the room is now as dark as it’s going to get. He feels a hand pat his feet and hears a drawer open before being close and another opened. The blanket is draped over his feet and the weight is comforting to him. Not necessarily the heat but he’ll take whatever miniscule comfort he can get.

He grabs the pad again and writes

**Are there more blankets?**

He hears a shuffle and several drawers open again. Several Blankets are placed on different parts of his body over the sheet. The stripe of light pops up again and Ressler can’t help but groan.

“I apologize.”

The stripe is covered soon after and another blanket is draped over.

“Is that okay? That’s all of them but if needed, I can bring more.”

**No that’s fine. Thank you.**

“I came to tell you what I know so you can just listen. Okay?”

Reddington perches like a cat on one of the chairs. Not sitting in it but resting more of himself on it so that Donald can see him.

“We’ve figured out the timeline for your poisoning, and we’re backtracking. You were poisoned at the restaurant. The meet up and exchange. There’s likely to be video of whoever poisoned you or was hired to. I’m following that and I promise you there will be some form of divine retribution.”

He feels a hand touch his own briefly and how he’s laying on his side he can’t see the man. There’s a brief pause and he feels a hand on his face, pushing the sweat dampened hair off of his forehead.

It’s another minute before Reddington decides to leave. A week before he would’ve wanted nothing more than for the man to leave him alone. He can’t help but mourn the loss of the touch and presence. He curses himself and it sends waves of nausea over him. He pulls the blankets tighter around him and tries to stay still. He’s wracked by coughing fits not even a minute late and has to press the red call button. Ressler can hear the alarms blaring around him and he’s so out of it that he can no longer think straight. He throws up on himself and passes out as several nurses come in and heave the blankets off of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are amazing. Please tell me your thoughts!


	3. Brevity

They put him back on the respirator and pump him with more drugs.

To suppress his stomach.

The coughing.

Keep his lungs clear.

Help him breathe clearly.

They tell him that the odds are bleak


	4. Uncomfortable Truths

Raymond Reddington has never been to lose his nonchalance, but he can’t hold on when someone messes with his close acquaintances.

~~Or possible friends.~~

He retraces the steps of the detectives, Aram stuck to his heels like stepped in bubblegum.

“According to the travel logs there was a stop at the bar before a stop at …”

He stalls for a second before adjusting the tablet and typing in some denominators.

“A warehouse in Brooklyn. No connection to the case. Unless we missed something.”

Reddington looks at him to clarify.

“I don’t know what this is. Maybe we should ask Agent Keen?”

“Do that. We need to know where he ingested the poison. Or if someone injected him with it.”

“We have the timeline from Haverkamp for when Ressler could’ve ingested the poison.”

“Where does it start?”

“It was forty-five minutes before he exited the bar to chase that suspect.”

“How long were they in the bar?”

“Two hours. They didn’t go in as agents though they went in as Diego Ellis and his assistant Liza Terry. They were trying to trace a gun deal connected to the land exchange at the auction.”

“The gun that killed Corinne Meyers. Yes.”

“They met up with one of the people from the sale. He was one of your contacts. They didn’t know that though. Well the contacts didn’t.”

Reddington drives quietly, Dembe still being at the hospital. Aram is shuffling through files. “We tapped their phones, but there was another one we didn’t account for.”

Reddington turns onto the street the bar is located.

“Is that how they were tipped off?”

“Yes. We lost contact and only heard half of the conversation.”

Reddington hums lightly and parks farther away from the building.

Reddington takes several guns out of the trunk and hands one to Aram who hesitates for a second before taking it

He pulls out a holster and straps it to his lower back, before taking another and strapping it to his ankle. As well as several decently sized knives. Aram can’t help but take a couple of steps back.

~~\--------------------------------------------------------------~~

It takes them about ten minutes to find the guy from the meeting with Ressler. Reddington drags him off the barstool, his drunken haze can be smelled from where Aram is standing, and it turns his stomach.

“Get off me you pig. I payed off my debt.” He pushes against Reddington and somehow turns himself around in his grasp, only stopping once he comes face to face with Reddington. He squeaks quietly.

“I don’t owe anyone anything. I did the job and I’m done.” His voice creeps higher as Reddington drags him across the room.

He can’t jerk free of the man’s grasp and Reddington’s facial expression doesn’t waver as he drags the man up the stairs to the roof.

Aram worries for a second that the man is about to do something illegal, and then he realizes that nearly everything the man does is illegal. He momentarily wonders if he should stay put and then decides ‘screw it.’ And darts up the staircase.

Reddington drags him across the gravel layered across the cement of the roof creating foot trails. The man is wailing to try to bargain with Red, but the man is stone-faced.

“What do you know about the meeting yesterday? You and the other man.”

He has the man teetering on the edge, pushed half over.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He’s screaming now.

“Who hired you?” His voice is a half tone deeper and tinged with anger. He pushes him farther off the ledge and the man is flailing, grasping at Reddington’s arms. He’s nearly crying now, and his thighs are over the edge now.

“I was hired by a man who came to the bar. He said he’d made a deal with you. Or his wife had. I don’t know, that’s all I know. I swear.”

“You ran from Diego. Why?” His voice is startlingly calm, and Aram makes a mental note to never cross Reddington, his gun encounter was enough fear for him.

“There was a man and he told me to.” The man falters and Reddington shoves him further. The man screams even louder.

“I was paid to give him something. It was a job. I swear it wasn’t. Me.” Reddington growls.

“Give him what?” Reddington grabs the man by his neck, letting go of his collar, he flails and screams again.

“It was a drink. It was messed, I think, he didn’t tell me. He said something about an alchemist and his dead wife. Please let me go.”

Reddington nods, thanks the man and lets him go.

Aram nearly vomits as the man goes over the edge. 

“Time to leave.”

Aram can’t speak through his nausea and he just nods.

The man fell hard into the pavement and the blood and bone mangles his face, but Aram can still see that the man’s eyes are open. He can’t handle it and does end up vomiting in a nearby trashcan.

~~\--------------------------------------------------------~~

They give Ressler more medication and finally he feels fine enough to sit up. He can’t seem to let go of the blankets though. He looks over and sees that the last blanket is no longer on the window.

It’s one of Reddington’s coats.

He feels that it might be sentimental, but he also realizes that it could just be the fact that he’s really rich and could just buy another one.

That thought bums him out. Oddly.

The rude nurse comes back and turns the light back on. He has a split second to cover his face with the blanket and all the sudden movement nearly sends him over the edge. He nearly blacks out again before he hears Havercamp almost yelling at the nurse.

“What the hell are you doing? This stays off. You use flashlights if you need to see, this patient is photosensitive.”

The nurse huffs and leaves. The doctor turns the light off and checks the IV bag. Ressler hears another nurse come in.

“Nurse Joy is assigned to another room; she’s no longer allowed near this patient. We can’t afford Mr. Reddington suing us.”

Ressler rolls his eye and slowly removes the blanket from his face.

~~=======================================================================~~

Reddington still seems unbothered by the whole…. Having just murdered a guy thing.

“I know where we’re going next. David mentioned the alchemist.”

Aram squirms. “You knew the man’s name. Doesn’t that make it worse? Don’t you think about the people you…”

Reddington makes a turn and glances at Aram.

“Eventually they all make their appearance in your conscience but for now I have to help agent Ressler and I’ll do whatever I can to help him.”

Aram can’t help his curiosity. He falters. “Okay but you’d have the same… fervor if it was the rest of us, right? Like if it was me?”

Reddington looks over at him with a wry smile.

“Of course. I’d go to bat for all of you. I never thought I’d say that. It’s true though.”

Aram can’t help but feel comforted by that. Except possibly the fact that the man next to him just gruesomely murdered someone.


	5. New Nightmares

The drive is long and silent and awkward. Aram tries to make small talk at first but Reddington’s grasp of pop culture is stilted and the conversation fizzles. Eventually Aram falls asleep and wakes up to find that the car is parked on some kind of estate and Reddington is gone.

Aram is going to have a hard time explaining his carelessness to Cooper. Aram checks his piece and cautiously opens the passenger door, climbing out. He’d only recently been certified to carry a gun but he was an okay shot when it all came down to it.

He waivers slightly as he comes to the opening of what he can only assume is a manor and finds the door ajar. He toes it open further not lowering his gun and not making any noise. There’s a faint shuffle from beyond a sprawling marble staircase, which a velvety red carpet has been thrown over to make it less daunting. (Or so he assumes)

He makes his way up the stairs with an abundance of caution, making sure to press his back against the wall and check where he’d come from previously for hostiles, just like they’d taught him in training. He tries not to let his fear get the best of him.

He steps into a grey accented white room. There’s a man, middle aged nearly black hair standing over Reddington. His fist is balled, raised up to strike Reddington in the face. Reddington looks like shit, he’s beaten pretty much to a pulp and Aram can’t help but wonder briefly how long he was asleep.

Reddington’s eyes are half closed and he’s breathing heavily, his shirt is seeped with blood and the taller man is sobbing over him.

“Step away from him. Hands up. FBI.” Aram tries to keep his voice loud and even, but he wavers.

The man drops Reddington on the ground and turns with his hands in the air. Reddington staggers off the floor and puts the gun from his holster into the small of the man’s back.

“Now that we have the chance to talk.” Reddington swings his leg around and knocks the man down to his knees.

“Daniel Carroll.”

The man is propped up on his hands and knees, but he takes the time to look over his shoulder to glare at Red.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you bastard.”

Reddington hums deeply and raises his gun so that it’s pointed directly at Carroll’s face.

“And why would that be? Hmm.”

Aram looks over at him concerned. He doesn’t want to witness another murder today. ~~Especially not Reddington’s.~~

“You’re the reason my wife is dead.” He growls and turns to lunge at Reddington, but Aram is quicker, swiping the man’s legs out from under him. He falls on the carpet face first and Reddington pulls him up by his hair.

“And who would that be?”

Carroll growls at him but doesn’t make a move to assault him again. Reddington’s lip is busted and there are small slashes littered over his face, but he gives no indication that he’s been hurt otherwise.

“Corinne Meyers.”

Reddington seems taken aback by that. He loosens his grip on the man’s hair by about an inch before just dropping him completely.

“I had nothing to do with Corinne. She returned the money to Dembe and then went off on her own to shoot some drug dealer. Our dealing was one and done. Not about guns, either.” 

“Then how come a gun of yours was used to shoot her. I hope you choke.”

Reddington sighs before rolling his tongue in his mouth and shooting Carroll in the leg.

“I hope he dies slow.”

Reddington’s eyes narrow and Aram takes a step back.

He shoots him again, this time in the other leg, raising his foot and grinding it into Carroll’s wound.

The man lets out a shrill howl as Reddington grates deeper into the bullet hole.

“Who mixed whatever is killing him?” He crushes the leg more twisting his foot like he was putting out a cigarette.

“It was Gerald Patrick. He made it out of some snake venom. I don’t know.”

Reddington raises his foot from the wound before stepping with as much pressure as he can muster on the other bullet wound.

“He gave me an antidote just in case I ingested any of it. Please just stop. I can’t.”

Reddington doesn’t let up. “Where?”

Carroll points to the attached bathroom before breaking into tears. “Medicine cabinet. Just leave me alone.”

Reddington gestures for Aram to go check it. Aram puts his gun into the holster on his hip and snaps it as he makes his way into the bathroom. There’s a spiraled tub that takes up most of one of the corners. He makes his way across the room and positions himself in front of a marbled sink. Opening the mirror there’s several over the counter medications and a vial marked in sharpie as ‘Emergency’

“I think I found it.” He shouts to the other room.

He walks into the room holding the vial.

Reddington doesn’t even spare the man a glance. “Is this it?”

The man nods his head feverishly. He starts sobbing again.

“I just wanted to make you pay for her death. Make you feel like I do.”

Reddington purses his lips. “I wasn’t responsible for your wife’s death.”

Carroll’s eyes widen almost cartoonishly. “The gun you were referring to was sold to her by a man named Thom Garrison. I was trying to help her before she died. I dealt with her but only as a remainder. She laundered money for me. One time only though. I would feel sorry for you, and I certainly do feel terribly about Corinne’s unfortunate end, but you hurt someone very close to me. I cannot abide.”

He raises his gun and the man closes his eyes and breathes deeply before catching a bullet in the brain. Aram doesn’t vomit this time.

The man’s eyes are still closed but his body is contorted like a ragdoll. Torso twisted opposite of his hips, head resting on the bed.

As they make their way to the car, Aram doesn’t even try to make conversation.

He can’t sleep either though.


	6. Reprieve

The lights are still off when Reddington gets back to the hospital room. Haverkamp has situated himself on Donald’s right side, his facial expression is dripping with displeasure, and what could be read as ear. Reddington doesn’t bother knocking before he walks in, barely acknowledging Dembe.

The doctor straightens when he sees Red. The fear now takes over his face and he moves to clasp his hands over his lab coat. Only unclasping them when Reddington hands him the brown vial. Ressler looks as close to dead as ever with the respirator and bluish tinged skin and Aram can’t help but leave the room.

“What’s happening?”

The doctors nervousness eclipses the tone of his speech. “We had to put the patient in a medically induced coma, bronco dilators and respirators are basically keeping him alive at this point. The internal bleeding worsened while you were gone and we had to go into surgery to correct a blockage in his intestine caused by improper blood clotting.”

“Call him by his actual name. Don’t dehumanize him.”

He nearly growls and the doctor lurches back into one of the plastic bed rails.

“That should be the antibody to the poison.”

Haverkamp’s expression gives way to hope. “We don’t know how bad the damage is so far or if it’s reversable, but we’ll see.”

He takes an empty syringe and punctures the vial, taking about half of the greenish brown liquid. Injecting it directly into Donald’s right arm. He takes the other half and injects it into a bag of Saline and hooks it into the IV, taking the Morphine off the rack, along with whatever cocktail of medication they were giving him.

“Now we wait. We’ll keep him under for the next day to see if his vitals improve, and then wake him if they are. I’ll turn on the light for you when I leave, sir.”

“Will that affect him?”

“Most likely? No.”

Reddington nods and pulls a chair up from the wall. He sits, crossing his legs and pushing his back into the back of the chair. 

It’s a few hours later now and Reddington is awoken by a nurse tapping lightly on his shoulder.

“Hello. Sorry, I’m nurse Sampson. I need to make sure his lungs are clear.” Reddington nods through a sleepy haze and backs the chair away from the bed, getting up and standing near the sink on the opposite side. He washes his hands while the nurse goes to work cleaning and prepping a small patch of skin on the chest. Soap, she’s unwrapping the plastic on the needle. Rinse and scrub, she’s injecting about three centimeters of the needle into a lower part of his chest, expelling some kind of yellowish fluid. It takes another two and a half syringes to clear both lungs and Reddington decides to wash his hands again so he can distract himself from what’s happening.

Finally, she puts gauze pads and medical tape over the pierced areas and tells him he can put the chair next to the bed again. He nods slightly and thanks her for her help.

He crashes in the chair again once the nurse leaves with the syringes. Not even bothering to cross his legs or sit up straight.

He sleeps for another couple of hours and this time wakes up on his own. He glances over to Ressler and sees that his eyes are open and looking over at him. He pushes himself back to the back of the chair and sits up straighter.

“How long?” Ressler smirks slightly. Looking a little bit better but still not a healthy color.

“Not sure. Long enough to know that you don’t look so conniving when you’re asleep. A nurse came in and I told her not to wake you up.”

“Are you feeling any better?” He tries not to betray his own concern but fails miserably.

“Well, I’m not vomiting blood so I’d say it’s a win.”

His voice is gravelly and Reddington pulls himself up and walks over to the tray that’s been pushed up against the wall. He pushes it over the agents lap and opens a water and a still kind of cold yogurt tube. He pulls the tap and rips it open, giving it to the man. “It’ll coat your esophagus.” Ressler recoils, making a faux-disgusted face. “Ugh. Just say throat like everyone else in the world.” Reddington smirks at that, gesturing vaguely for him to eat the yogurt. He does and Reddington leaves to update Dembe on the situation. Nurse Sampson passes him on his way out.

Aram is still there, sitting next to Dembe. They stop talking about whatever when Red appears. Aram stands up quickly.

“Any difference?”

Reddington nods broadly. “He’s awake and talking. He seems a lot better, but the doctor said that they’d have to check for any permanent damage.”

The relief is palpable and Dembe even smiles in respite. Aram leaves, presumably to talk to Ressler.

“He’s drinking water and seems to be breathing alright. At least it can’t be heard across the room anyway.”

Dembe gives him a knowing look. “And how are you Raymond?” The tall man tilts his head.

“Less worried now. I realized something though.”

Dembe just hums in response and Reddington continues.

“I care about the agents, more than I thought. Not just Elizabeth either. All of them. I can’t just walk away, not anymore.”

Dembe smiles broadly.

~~\----------------------------------------------------------~~

When he finally gets back into the room Aram and Ressler are talking about something, sincere by the looks of it.

“Ahh. Reddington.” Some of the color has returned to Donald’s face and his voice no longer sounds like he ate woodchips.

The sudden exclamation of his name startles him.

“Both of you, actually. I need to apologize. I’m sorry for lying to you, Aram. I wasn’t fine but I didn’t want to make to worry or inconvenience you. And. I could’ve died, which I now realize would have been much worse for you.”

He pauses to drain the rest of his water and continues.

“Reddington. I.” Another pause.

“I’m sorry I was so harsh about the man getting away. And in general. Can’t guarantee I won’t be an asshole in the future but I’m sorry I thought you tried to get me killed. At the bar. When the bug ran.”

Reddington just nods. “You have every right not to trust me. You’re the agent on my case after all.”

Ressler looks guilty. “No. All that time means nothing now. The Blacklist changed that. All the criminal’s dead or in jail. You may do things sideways sometimes but.”

Pause.

“You always get them somehow.”

Aram looks uncomfortable now, but he can’t help but agree.

The nurse walks in with her arms full of stuff. “Okay. I have yogurt, water, and iron.” Her voice seems more chipper now and Reddington notice the smile lines around her eyes. She has a kind of natural beauty, which seems rare now. She looks like a young Millie Perkins.

Reddington sits in one of the chairs on Donald’s right side, making sure not to block the nurse.

“Okay. You need to take two of these each morning for two weeks and one daily everyday after that until you heal. Possibly after. The blood loss has made you Anemic and this will help, just a regular iron supplement. We’ll also need to get your protein up so they’re bringing lunch now.”

Ressler just nods. He still looks sickly but measurably less than before.


	7. Small Joys (And Short Last Chapters)

It takes a week and a half for Ressler to get out of the hospital and another week to be allowed back on desk duty.

He’s sitting at his desk across from Liz when Reddington walks in with a cake. Liz shrugs and keeps on typing her report when Reddington walks over to Ressler instead of her. No doubt relieved there’s not a new case before she can wrap up the last one.

“Marvin told me to give this to you.” He unwraps the top and pushes it onto the table, chuckling lightly.

Ressler’s eyebrow raises. “Marvin Gerard?” To which Red just nods, still chuckling.

The cake is a pale blue with darker red lettering that says: ‘Glad you didn’t die.’ And in pinkish purple lettering: ‘Well Wishes. Marvin.” 

“Meant to raise spirits.” Liz looks over and reading the cake, gives out a small giggle.

“Would you like me to cut you slice Lizzie?” Reddington is now perched on his desk like one of those North American birds he speaks so fondly of.

“Only if Ressler agrees to it.”

Now both pairs of eyes are on him and he makes a sweeping gesture with his arms. “Cake for the team, then.”

Reddington’s eyes crinkle with amusement as he pulls a knife from his belt and sanitizes it with a wet wipe from Lizzie’s desk.

Ressler forgets all the pain momentarily as he eats cake with his closest friends, and a criminal. Who at this point could be considered closer to him than any of his actual friends. ~~And who he trusts more than he’d ever let on.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and let me know how I did!  
> They mean a lot to me.


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